Cogs can think.

As I pulled out of my parents’ driveway earlier this afternoon, I noticed one of our cats sitting by the side of the street. Jari sat there, in his usual pose, his gaze resembling that of a supermarket assistant before his first coffee break. He’s rather old, 14 years now, and the years are starting to show. About two years ago he started to get thinner rapidly, his majestic black fur losing its glossy shine due to him being ill. While Jari reclaimed some of his physical glory from before the mysterious illness the vet couldn’t put his fingers on, he’s still noticeably different.

I clearly remember the day we went to pick Jari up. I was 9 years old, and wanted a kitten desperately. My parents already had cats, but they passed away before I was born. A girl in my class told me her cat had kittens, so I probably started my usual nagging cycle, and somewhere right around where I threatened to tie myself to the front of our car, my parents gave in.

A few weeks later, we were driving back home with a small black furball stuck in a cardboard box. Right there and then, Jari demonstrated his extraordinary strength and determination by completely ripping apart the thick box and going all mental inside our car. He jumped up against the car windows, jumped from back to front, and in general, made driving quite a challenge for my mother.

Back home, like all kittens, he showed a fondness for tiny, dark spaces, crawling in every little dark corner he could find. Within days, this behaviour passed, and he started to grow more confident by the day, slowly turning into the emperor he would become. I remember how my brothers and I used to take Jari into our bedrooms, and play with him under the covers of our beds.

As I drove passed Jari this afternoon, and looked him in his eyes, I realised why that stupid old cat means so much to me. He’s not as sweet as Roza, and not as loving and charming as Jobje - in fact, he’s grumpy, sometimes even aggressive, and he can be quite annoying too. Still, this cat means so much to me because he is the only tangible thing in this universe that binds everyone in our family together. No matter what has happened over the past 15 to 20 years between my parents and I on one side, and my brothers on their respective sides, we all love Jari.

Those memories, of playing with Jari under the covers of our beds, might very well be the last unambiguously happy memories I have concerning my brothers. And because of that, no matter how much I love my Twiek and Alice, it will always be Jari that has that special place in my heart.

How queer everything is today! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!

Alice is here.

Twiek and Alice still need to learn to get along, but they’ve been making tremendous progress wich each other in just 24 hours. I’m so proud of Twiek, he’s handling these stressful times like a true gentleman; distant, but curious. Alice hisses and growls a little at him when he gets too close, but the distance-to-growl is getting smaller and smaller almost by the hour.

Alice comes from the farm, where she lived the first weeks of her life in a colony of mothers and kittens, near the cows, tumbling about in the hay, under the proper care of the lady of the farm. My apartment must feel like Wonderland to her.

I always saw a little Cheshire in Twiek.

I’d like to introduce a new addition to the family.

Sex is yet undetermined, but they believe it’s a girl - meaning her name will either be Deesie (’Dutchified’ Daisy, as in, Daisy Adair, protrayed by the ever so attractive Laura Harris) or Alice (as in, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland). I really can’t wait until the end of June when she’s ready to leave her mother.

Deesie or Alice - it’ll all depend on her character.

I’m also extremely curious as to how Twiek will react. He’s used to having the entire house to himself, so I wonder what he’ll do as soon as the new kitten arrives. My guess is he’ll puff his tail and dive under my bed, as he always does.

PUSSY.

I’m feeling worried. This is the first time I’m truly feeling worried ever since my mother got sick. I nearly forgot how it felt.

Twiek has been outside, away, for nearly seven hours now. That’s not unusual for a cat. It is, however, unusual for Twiek. This cat is now nearly two, and he’s never been outside for much longer than ten minutes. He hates going outside, he’s terribly afraid of all the ‘outside stuff’. Sometimes he does run outside, but he barely ever leaves the recessed entry of my front door. He usually gets scared shitless because, I don’t know, a leaf fell down. And then I’m stuck with a scared cat with a puffed tail. Which looks totally cute, by the way.

And now he’s been away for SEVEN HOURS. And it’s been pitch-dark for three hours now.

I’m worried something happened to him. I know my cat well, and this isn’t like him at all. He’s a very pretty cat, and someone might easily mistake him for a thoroughbred - and theft of thoroughbred cats is quite common in The Netherlands, since thoroughbreds are worth an awful lot of money.

I don’t think I’ll be doing much sleep tonight if he doesn’t show up soon.

Update: I can go safe to sleep. I opened my backyard door for the 127241th time, and this time, he came walking in. Pretty as ever. I wonder where he spent those 8+ hours?

Well have I ever.

My new proposal for my bachelor’s thesis has found a home. I’m so happy right now, even Twiek was all confused. “Ey, I’m the one supposed to be jumping around aimlessly, running up walls, and climbing the couches, jumping onto tables and knocking over cups of coffee. You are upsetting the delicate balance of power here.” Sorry sweetie, normal service will resume in a minute. Or two.

Anyway, I’ll be diving into the attitudes people have towards minority languages. I’m going to compare the attitudes people from England (as in, England-proper) have towards Scottish Gaelic and Welsh to the attitudes people from The Netherlands have towards our very own minority language, Frisian.

The reason I want to dive into this is because in the past few decades or so, there has been a worldwide surge in interest in these minority languages, as people (rightfully so) realise that without the proper measures, these languages, and all the cultural information they have inside them, will vanish. Various governments have started promotional programs and the likes to promote the use of these languages. In The Netherlands, the use of Frisian has been promoted heavily since 1956, resulting in Frisian being a compulsory subject in schools, various cities and municipalties officially changing their names to the Frisian variants, and even the province of Friesland itself officially changing its name to Fryslân, the Frisian variant. The Scottish government has done similar promotion of Scottish Gaelic.

Now, if it turns out that the attitudes towards minority languages of people speaking the majority language are similar cross-culturally, then language unions can share methods of promotion on a cross-cultural level.

That’s the idea, in any case. It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work.

This is exactly why I like felines so much. They are gracious, agile, beautiful, inventive, stealthy, and just downright awesome on every level.

Humans the pinnacle of evolution? Don’t make me laugh.

Somehow, it seems as if he’s on fire.

Anyway, this really seems like his ‘on guard’ spot, since he never sleeps here - he just overseas his territory. As soon as he hears even the faintest of noises, he gets up, and sprints to wherever it came from.

Comical to watch.

Is there anything more pleasing than watching a 20 month old tomcat chasing its own tail in the kitchen, lit by deep-blue LED lighting, with Alanis’ “Surrendering” playing in the background?

Well, apart from meeting Fiona Apple, I’m pretty sure the answer is ‘no’.

A photo a I took of Twiek a few days ago. He’s such a pretty critter, this is thoroughbred material. Dare to disagree with me.

Cats do drugs too.

Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.